INTO BONDAGE
IT was the morning after the arrival at Yorktown. Jack was awake and
up on deck bright and early. The sun had just risen upon a clear
and cloudless day, and the brisk, fresh wind drove the crisp waves
splashing against the brig as she rode at anchor. The foliage of the
trees on shore whitened to the breeze, and the smoke blew sharply
away here and there from some tall brick chimney. The town looked
fresh and strangely new in the brightness of the morning. Three of
the vessels that had lain in the harbor over night were getting under
way. The yo-hoeing of the sailors, and the creaking and rattling of
block and tackle, as the sails rose higher and higher apeak, sounded
sharp and clear across the water. One large schooner, heeling over
before the wind, slid swiftly and silently past the _Arundel_. Three or
four sailors, clustered along the rail, were looking over toward the
_Arundel_ as they passed the brig, but the man at the helm—he wore a
red woolen monteray cap—gazed out steadily ahead, stooping a little so
as to see under the boom of the mainsail.
Several of the redemptioners had come up on deck; one or two of them,
doubtless remembering the tumult and disorder of the night before, wore
a hang-dog doubtful look. Suddenly Jack saw the mate coming toward them
from aft. “What are ye doing up here on deck!” he called out. “Weren’t
you ordered below last night? Very well then, you go down below now,
and don’t ye come up till you’re sent for; d’ye hear?” The men, though
sullen and lowering, had no thought of disobeying the mate’s orders,
and Jack, with the others, climbed down the ladder into the forecastle
again.
It was well toward the middle of the day, and Jack was lounging in his
berth, when Dred suddenly appeared in the steerage. He stood looking
silently around for a moment or two, and then, seeing Jack, beckoned
to him. Dred did not speak until they were out in the forecastle. “The
agent’s come from shore to take you all off, lad,” said he; “he’s with
Captain Butts in the cabin now, and in a minute or two you’ll be sent
for.”
“To take us ashore?” said Jack. A sudden, keen pang gripped his heart,
followed instantly by an utter falling away of the spirits, that left
him almost physically weak. “To take us ashore?” Had the time then come
at last?
“Aye,” said Dred, “ye’ve got to go ashore now, lad. But sit you down
there a bit,” and he pointed to a sea-chest. “I’ve a notion to try
and tidy ye up a bit. I don’t choose to have ye looking like they
riff-raff,” and he jerked his head toward the steerage. “D’ye see, we
two ha’ been mates, ha’n’t we?” He had taken out his gunny-bag, and he
now brought out of it his needle and thread. He looked up at Jack from
under his brows and then looked away again. Jack did not return the
look but sat with dry and choking throat, his breath coming hot and
heavy from him. “Well, then,” said Dred, “seeing as we’re messmates, I
won’t have ye going ashore looking like nothing but trash. Give me your
coat and waistcoat.” He had threaded his needle and waxed the thread
deftly. Jack stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and without a word
Dred began mending the frayed and tattered edges of the waistcoat. Jack
sat silently in his shirt-sleeves watching him. He knew that Dred was
talking for the sake of talking. He felt almost stifled with his hot
and labored breathing as he sat watching the other’s busy fingers.
“There, that looks betterish,” said Dred, holding the waistcoat off
and looking at it, still carefully avoiding Jack’s eyes as he did so.
“Here, take it,” and he tossed it to Jack. “And now for the coat. I be
a wonderful man at mending clothes, ben’t I? Lord! what a hole is here,
to be sure.” There was a long time of silence, Dred busily sewing away
at the coat. “There,” said he at last, “what d’ ye think of that for a
bit of mending? Well, well, lad, the time comes to all on us to part
some time, so what matters it soon or late? Harkee, Jack; don’t you go
making trouble for yourself. You be a good boy, and you’ll be treated
well enough, I dare say. You’re mightily young yet, and five or six
year won’t matter so much to you, and then think o’ what a deal you’ll
see in that time.” He was talking very briskly, meantime putting away
the needle and thread neatly.
Five years! Jack stood watching Dred fumbling in his gunny-bag.
Presently he fetched out a pair of yarn stockings. “Here, put these
on,” said he, “the ones you got be all full of holes. Give ‘em to me.”
Jack did not dare to trust himself to speak. He began dumbly changing
his stockings, Dred standing over him.
Suddenly the boatswain appeared at the companion-way of the forecastle,
and piped all hands up on deck. Jack and Dred went up together. Captain
Butts and the agent were standing waiting for the men, the agent
holding a little packet of papers in his hand. Jack, in a glance, saw
that the agent was a tall, lean man dressed in rusty black, wearing a
long, black coat, and with the flaps of his hat tied up with leather
thongs. His lips moved as he counted the redemptioners, one by one, as
they came up out of the companion-way and were formed in a line before
him by the boatswain. A great, flat boat, rowed by four negroes and
with a white man in the stern, had been made fast to the side of the
brig. “Nineteen, twenty—that’s all of ‘em, Captain,”—the agent had
counted Jack in with the others,—“and very lucky you’ve been with ‘em.
Now, Bo’s’n, get ‘em down as soon as you can.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the boatswain; and then to the men, “Now then,
look alive, my hearties, and don’t take all day about it!”
Then, suddenly, Jack went straight up to where the agent stood. “Sir,”
said he, hoarsely, “I have been ill-used. I was knocked down and
kidnapped, and brought away from home against my will. Will you not
listen to me and hear what I have to say?”
“Hold your noise!” roared the captain.
“No, I won’t, neither,” said Jack. He did not expect much, indeed he
felt that he had no hope of escape, but still the effort was worth
making. He stood chokingly looking at the agent, and he felt that his
heart was beating very heavily within him.
“I don’t know anything about what you say,” said the agent. “The bill
calls for twenty men shipped from Southampton, and your name must be
among them. What’s your name?”
“Jack Ballister.”
“Yes, here ’tis—John Ballister—shipped for five years. If there is
something wrong, you’ll have to hold Captain Butts and Mr. Hezekiah
Tipton to answer. I’m only an agent, and ’tis none of my business.”
“I wish I had ye for a couple of days longer,” said Captain Butts, “I’d
answer ye, I would. I’d put my answer upon your back, I would, afore I
let ye go.”
“But Master Hezekiah Tipton is my own uncle,” said Jack.
“I don’t know anything about that,” said the agent, “’Tis none of my
business.”
Jack did not say another word. He crossed the deck, hardly knowing
what he was doing, and climbed down into the boat, where the other
transports were already seating themselves. A moment or two, and the
agent followed, and then immediately the boat was cast loose. As it
pulled away toward the shore, Jack gave one look back across the
widening stretch of water. It was almost like a dream; it seemed to
him as though that which was passing was not really happening to him.
Dred’s red handkerchief gleamed like a flame against the blue sky as he
stood on the rail looking after the departing boat. Then Jack turned
his face quickly away. He could not trust himself to look again, lest
he should break down before all the boat-full of men.
A little scattered cluster of men stood upon the wharf waiting for the
flat boat as it drew nearer and nearer, and when it struck the piling
with a bump half a dozen willing hands caught the line that was thrown
them and made it fast. Jack scrambled with the others to the wharf
under the curious gaze of those who stood looking on. They were formed
into a line, two by two, and then marched down the wharf toward the
shore. The loungers followed them scatteringly. Beyond the wharf they
crossed a narrow strip of beach, and climbed a sloping, sandy road
cut through the high bluff. At the crest they came out upon a broad,
grassy street, upon which fronted the straggling houses, one or two
built of brick, but most of them unpainted frame-structures, with tall,
sharp-pointed roofs and outside chimneys of brick. A curious smoky
smell pervaded the air. People stood at their doors looking at Jack and
his companions as they marched two by two down the center of the dusty
street.
So at last they reached and were halted in front of a large brick
warehouse. Then the agent opened the door, and they entered. Within it
was perfectly empty, and smelt damp and earthy from disuse. The board
floor was sunken unevenly, and the plaster was broken from the walls
here and there in great patches. The two windows, which looked upon the
rear of the adjoining houses, were barred across with iron. Jack heard
his companions talking together. “Well, Jack,” said Sim Tucker, “here
we be at last.”
Jack sometimes wondered whether the two days that followed passed
very quickly or very slowly. Food was sent over three times a day to
the warehouse by the agent, and twice a day all hands were allowed to
walk about for a few minutes in a little yard back of the building. It
seemed to him that he slept nearly all the rest of the time, except
now and then when he stood on an empty box looking out of one of the
windows. The windows overlooked a yard and a shed, beyond the roof of
which was a cluster of trees, and beyond that again two tall chimneys.
Nearly always there were pigeons on the roof of the shed. Now and then
there was the noise of their clapping flight, but the gurgling coo
of the strutting males sounded almost continuously through the warm
silence.
* * * * *
About eleven o’clock of the third day, they were brought out of the
storehouse, formed into line in front of the building, and then
marched away in the hot sun down the street about a hundred yards to
the custom-house. Jack saw a lounging, scattered crowd of men there
gathered in a little group, and he guessed that that was where they
were to be sold.
The agent and the auctioneer stood by a horse-block talking together
in low tones as the man who had marched Jack and the others down from
the warehouse formed them in line against the wall of the building. The
agent held a slip of paper in his hand, which he referred to every now
and then. At last the auctioneer mounted upon the horse-block.
[Illustration: “‘NOW THEN, GENTLEMEN, HOW MUCH DO YOU BID FOR THIS
BOY?’ SAID THE AUCTIONEER.”]
“Gentlemen,” Jack heard him say, “I have now to offer as fine a lot of
servants as hath ever been brought to Virginia. There be only twenty,
gentlemen, but every one choice and desirable. Which is the first one
you have upon your list, Mr. Quillen?” said he, turning to the agent.
The agent referred to a slip of paper he held in his hand. “Sam
Dawson,” he called out in a loud voice. “Step out, Sam Dawson!” and in
answer to the summons a big, lumbering man, with a heavy brow and dull
face, stepped out from the line and stood beside the horse-block.
“This is Sam Dawson, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, addressing the
crowd. “He hath no trade, but he is a first-rate, healthy fellow and
well fitted for the tobacco fields. He is to be sold for five years.”
“They’re all to be sold for five years,” said the agent.
“You have heard, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer—“they’re all to be
sold for five years. This is a fine big fellow. How much have I bid
for him? How much? Ten pounds is bid for his time—ten pounds is bid,
gentlemen! I have ten pounds. Now I have twelve pounds! Now I have
fifteen pounds!”
In a minute the price had run up to twenty pounds, and then a voice
said quietly: “I will give you twenty-five pounds for the man.”
“Mr. Simms bids twenty-five pounds for the man’s time in behalf of
Colonel Birchall Parker,” said the salesman. “Have I any more bids for
him?” But Mr. Simms’s bid seemed to close the sale, for no one appeared
to care to bid against him.
Jack had been so dazed and bewildered by coming out from the dark and
chill warehouse into the sunlight and life, that he had scarcely
noticed anything very particularly. Now he looked up at the man who
had bought Sam Dawson’s time, and saw that he was a stout, red-faced,
plain-looking man, dressed very handsomely in snuff-colored clothes. As
Jack wondered who he was, another man was called out from the line of
servants. Again the bids had run up to ten or twelve pounds, and then
again Mr. Simms made a bid of twenty-five pounds, and once more no one
bid against him. Another man and another man were sold, and then Jack
heard his own name.
“Jack Ballister!” called the agent. “Stand out, boy, and be quick about
it!” and Jack mechanically advanced from the others and took his place
beside the block, looking around him, as he did so, at the circle of
faces fronting him and all staring at him. His mouth felt very dry,
and his heart was beating and pounding heavily. “Here is a fine, good
boy, gentlemen,” said the salesman. “He is only sixteen years old, but
he will do well as a serving or waiting-man in some gentleman’s house
who hath need of such. He hath education, and reads and writes freely.
Also, as you may see for yourselves, gentlemen, he is strong and well
built. A lively boy, gentlemen—a good, lively boy! Come, boy, run to
yonder post and back, and show the gentlemen how brisk ye be.”
Jack, although he heard the words, looked dumbly at the speaker. “D’ye
hear me!” said the agent. “Do as I bid ye; run to yonder post and back!”
Then Jack did so. It seemed to him as though he were running in a
nightmare. As he returned to his place he heard the agent saying: “The
boy is strong, but doth not show himself off as well as he might. But
he is a good boy, as you may see for yourselves.” The next thing he
knew was that Mr. Simms had bought him for twenty pounds.